Circles
by Aiko-love-Anime
Summary: America x Reader. Human AU. Oneshot. Reader's life has not been easy, and so says the sad song she sings. However, when her sad song attracts the attention of a young doctor named Alfred, perhaps it will take a turn for the better. Or will it?


_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_No one knows where I'm going,_

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_No one knows where I'm going,_

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_And there's no knowing,_

_Where I'm off to,_

_'Cuz no one cares where I'm going._

The soft notes drifted off into the cold night air, just like every other time I've sung this song. It seems to fit perfectly. I have no idea where I am, or where I am going. I left my home and lost my way, and now I am stuck in the middle of some big city with winter fast approaching. I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I am lost and alone.

So very alone.

Strangers pass me by without even a glance. Very few throw change my way. Another two dollars and I can eat tonight.

But no one cares. No one ever did. No one ever will.

The memory of my father's drunken rampage plays through my mind once more. The shatter of glass, my mother screaming, his drunk slurs, another scream, a gunshot. Then silence.

I shake the memory away, and start my song again.

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_No one knows where I'm going,_

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_No one knows where I'm going,_

_Walking in circles, Walking in-_

"Shut the fuck up, street trash!" a man shouts down at me, before kicking me harshly in the ribs. I hear three sharp cracks. It knocks the wind from my lungs as the pain rolls in and I sputter for breath. He kicks me again before spitting on my face and walking away.

I sit up again, sharp pain wracking my chest, every breath more painful than the last.

Not that it matters. I'm used to breathing hurting.

Another memory.

"We don't know what it is." I hear through the door. "We've opened her up and looked around more times than we can keep track of, but we don't know what's wrong with her. All we can do is send her home, to spare you the burden of more debt. I'm sorry, we have done all we can for your daughter."

That was the first time I saw my mother cry.

At the time, none of us knew where our lives were going. Not me, not my mother, not my father, not even my younger sister.

The memory fades.

It seemed that my little sister, Hope, was in a constant circle of home and hospital, home then hospital. She had some disease that none of the doctors could explain. She would wake up in the middle of the night because she couldn't breathe. At first, she was diagnosed with asthma like me. Her inhaler worked for a while, but it soon became ineffective. The circle began.

My father started his own circle. Take Hope to the hospital, Worry about about her, bring her home, worry about money, drown in a bottle of alcohol, scream about her hospital bills, sober up, calm down, repeat.

But that night, the cycle ended.

He went off about Hope's medical debts again, he was smashing his empty bottles all around. Mama clutched Hope in her arms as my father came closer.

"She'd be cheaper dead!" he shouted.

I could hear mama shuffling around the living room as things were thrown around. I heard her screaming, begging him to calm down. He must have had a gun in his hands with the way he talked, the way she pleaded. The next thing I heard was Hope scream and gun fired.

Then silence.

When I finally felt safe, I walked out of my room to find my mother cradling my baby sister in her arms, and my father dead on the floor.

The gun was in my mama's hand.

I shiver as the wind picks up. I didn't have much; an old hoodie that was wearing thin. Gloves with holes, and a knit beanie. Come on, just a couple more dollars. Then, I can eat some place warm. The ache in my chest worsens with each shiver, but I can't stop them.

When you walk in circles, there are a lot of things that can't be stopped.

Just like losing Hope.

It was a supposed to be a new beginning for us. We moved away from our old neighborhood in the city to the quiet suburbs. Mom got a good job, and the future looked bright for all of us. But none of us were ready for what was about to happen next.

So quickly, Hope would be gone.

We were playing in the back yard. Just playing like to sister's do. When she collapsed. She couldn't breathe. She didn't have her inhaler, so I gave her mine. But it didn't work. No matter how many times I tried, she couldn't breathe again. I screamed for my mother. She tried to breathe for her, but couldn't. By the time she got an ambulance on the phone, she was already turning blue. I did breathed for her like mom showed me.

But she was gone.

The years that followed we hard. Mom, mom couldn't even look at me. She said I looked too much like Hope. She said I could have saved her. Hope's hospital bills on top of her funeral costs crushed us after she lost her job. She turned to other methods to get money. Strangers in my house became normal; what they were there for, I tried not to think about.

About two years after Hope died, I had a terrible asthma attack at school. I was rushed to the hospital because my inhaler failed.

Or so I thought.

I woke up to pretty much the same conversation I overheard when it was Hope lying on the bed.

"We don't know what it is. We can't help her."

I went home a few hours later. Mom through a fit, ending in a drunken sob. Something along the lines of being just like Hope, losing me just like Hope. How she hated me being like Hope. That's when I left.

Now here I am, three months later, sitting on some corner begging for spare change. My life is just one big circle.

And no one cares.

"Hey, it's pretty cold out." a soft voice greets. "Don't you have anything more to wear?"

I don't bother replying, or even looking up. He will probably tease me like so many others. I'm just street trash after all.

"Come on, don't be so low. It's almost Christmas, you know?" he says, handing me a roll. I take it slowly, still not looking at him. "Will ten dollars get you to look up?"

I look up, a bit quicker than I wanted, but to my surprise, he actually held out a ten dollar bill for me to take. He slips in my hand, and all I can do is look at him. His blue eyes stared back into mine from behind a pair of glasses. A warm smile on his face.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask.

"You seem like you need some saving." he said quietly. "You look like you are about to give up."

"Maybe I don't want to be saved." I say, picking at the roll he handed me, not really feeling up to eating with my broken ribs.

"Come on, don't be like that." he urges. "That's no way to be, not during the best time of the year. Perk up, be merry. Things will turn around."

"I'm tired of things turning around! I've walked in fucking circles all my life!" I shouted, a jolt of pain etching its way across my body. "You don't even care, so why bother with street trash like me?"

"I do care!" he snaps back. "You may think no one cares, you may think that you are all alone and that dying would be better than living another day, but you are wrong. Dead wrong. Someone does care about you. I care about you. If you die, I will miss you."

Who is this man?

"If you come with me, I can prove it to you. That I care."

"Come with you where?" I ask.

"To my apartment. The least I can offer is a warm place for the night. You'll freeze if you stay out here. If you still feel like I don't care about you, you can leave tomorrow morning." he says.

It sounds tempting; I haven't had a warm place to sleep in months. And what could he do to me that I haven't already been through on the streets?

"I can leave whenever I want?" I ask.

He nods.

"And you aren't going to do anything to me?"

"I promise that I won't even touch you without your permission." he swears.

"Where do you live?"

"Six blocks north from here."

Six blocks? Six blocks. I don't think I can stand, much less walk six blocks. But it's warm there. I have to try.

I try to lift myself, but the pain wracks my body once more, and I fall back to the ground, hands lightly clutching where the ribs have cracked. I'm not getting anywhere.

"Are you hurt?!" he asks urgently.

"Some jerk kicked my ribs in for singing earlier." I mention. I don't know why, it doesn't matter. "I can't move."

"Can I take a look?" he asks. I nod. He lifts my hoodie and shirt as I pull my hands away. He lightly press up and down until he finds the breaks. "My God, that's pretty bad."

"Dont," I wince, "have to tell me."

His light blue eyes fill with worry as he looks around. This part of the city rarely had taxis roll through.

"Would you mind if I carried you on my back?" he offers.

I shrug, wincing once more at the pain of motion. He takes it as a yes, as he leans down and pulls me onto his back. Without a word from me, he is off and walking. He tells me that he can help me when we get to his apartment. Something about being a doctor. I zone out when the pain gets too overwhelming and I try to focus on other things. But something keeps gnawing at my mind.

Why? Why is he doing this? He can't possibly care about some girl on the street. He's just like everyone else. If my own parents didn't care about me, this guy certainly doesn't. No one does. Just like the song says.

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_No one knows where I'm going,_

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_No one knows where I'm going,_

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_And there's no knowing,_

_Where I'm off to,_

_'Cuz no one cares where I'm going._

"That's a sad song." the man says, when the last note fades.

"But it's true." I reply quietly.

"Perhaps we can change the tune."

"Doubt it." I say.

We enter his apartment building, and I am greeted by a gentle warmth. I would have sighed, if my ribs wouldn't ache. He hops on the elevator and heads up. We reach his apartment and he sets me down on his ever-so-soft sofa.

I look around weakly, seeing that his home is well furnished. He definitely had money. Maybe the doctor story was true.

"I can't really do anything about your broken ribs, they'll have to heal on their own. I have some painkillers, they should help ease the pain. And I'll make you something to eat, too. Are you hungry?"

"Y-yeah, I am." I reply.

"Okay. I have some stew left over, want me to heat that up for you?"

"Sound good."

"My name is Alfred by the way." he says, as he scurries over to the kitchen and pulls a bowl out of the fridge and puts into the microwave. He returns with a glass of water and a painkiller. I take the pill and put it in my mouth before shakily taking the glass. I manage a sip and swallow. Now I just have to wait for it to kick in.

The microwave beeps and he brings the bowl over to me. I take it, and gladly accept the warm stew into my body. Before long, the bowl is empty and Alfred takes it back into the kitchen. By now, I can breathe without pain, but moving is a different story.

"You are free to stay in my guest room as long as you like. You may use the bath whenever you want, and you can help yourself to anything in the fridge."

The thought of a warm bath was appealing but with how hurt I am, I doubt I could manage to make it to the bath, much less take one.

"A bath sounds nice." I mutter, not realizing I said it aloud.

"You can take one if you want." he says. "Can you manage on your own?"

"I don't think so."

"Would you allow me to help you?" he asks.

"I'd rather you didn't..."

"No need to be bashful. I promised I wouldn't do anything."

He is a doctor, after all.

"Alright." I give in.

Nothing is more important than getting warm. Even if it meant letting this stranger see me naked. I just don't care anymore.

He helps me stand, and we walk over to the bathroom. He sits me down on the toilet and starts the bath.

"I'll get you a change of clothes." he says, disappearing out the door before returning a few moments later with a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants.

He helps me out of my clothes slowly. He take great care to make sure I move the least possible. He sits me in the bath slowly. My body relaxes instantly, despite the pain. He gently scrubs the dirt from my arms and face. By now, I'm so tired and weak that I just watch.

"You're about as clean as can be." he says, after a while. "I'll let you soak for a while on your own. Just shout when you want to get out."

"Okay." I say, and he leaves.

I sit, accepting all the warmth the water has to offer me. It feels so amazing. I can spend forever right here.

But suddenly, that feeling of content is gone. I feel my lungs tightening. No. No. Please no.

My breath hitches, as the airflow stops. My lungs seize up as the attack comes on. I fish around helplessly for my inhaler. Alfred came running at the sound of my splashing, snatched my inhaler and helps me use it, but it won't work. I know it won't work. Because this isn't asthma.

Please pass. Please pass. I beg over and over, as I slowly start fading out of consciousness. Just when I am about to pass out, my lungs start functioning again. And I breathe.

"Are you alright?" Alfred asks, worriedly as he pulls me out of the tub and wraps me in a towel.

"I am now." I pant, as I rest against the tub.

"What was that just now?"

"I don't know. None of the doctor's knew either. It's some kind of disease. It makes my lungs seize up and it's impossible to breathe. Usually it's only one or the other, but this time it was both." I say, through the pants.

"You've seen doctor's about this before?" he asks.

I nod.

"Dozens of doctors. My sister had it, too." I say sadly.

"Did it... take her?" he asks.

I nod.

"I'm so sorry." he says.

"It's fine." Not like you really care about her.

"I'll help you get dressed." he says.

"The painkiller is kicking in, I think I can do it on my own now." I reply, standing up, and grabbing the clothes he set out for me.

"Okay." he says, stepping out of the bathroom.

I change slowly, the pain ever-present but lessened now. I finish and open the door to see Alfred standing in the hall rubbing his neck.

"Do these attacks happened often?" he asks.

"They are kind of sporadic. Sometimes I will have two a week, others two a day, and still other times I might go an entire month without one." I say.

"I wish I could help you." he says, touching my shoulder.

"There's nothing you can do, Alfred." I say, slipping his hand away.

Just like the others.

"You're probably tired, right?" he says. "The guest room is right here, right across from the bathroom. Feel free to get some sleep. I'll clean your clothes and have them ready for you before you wake up.

"Alright." I say, walking over and heading into the room. I stop in the doorway and turn to him. "Alfred, why are you doing all of this for me?"

"Because I want to show you, someone does care about you. Someone does care about how you're doing, if you are alright or not, whether you are happy or sad. I care about you; that's why I'm doing all of this."

I stand there a moment, before closing the door and lying down in the bed. It's soft and unbelievably warm. As I drift off into the darkness, my head is filled with all that has happened today. All that Alfred said. He seems different than all of the others. All of the doctors that stopped trying, all of the people that treated you like garbage, like street trash. He didn't do that. He was gentle with you, kind even. Worried. Saddened. And those emotions, I can feel it, they were absolutely real.

I sleep deeper than I have in years. It's deep; dreamless. Not that I had any left to look forward to.

The morning comes, and I am greeted by pain once more. A hacking cough wracks my already broken rib cage. I can feel my insides ripping apart as my body tries to remove the nasty phlegm. When the painfully action ceased, a knock came at the door, and I bid Alfred to come in.

"That's a nasty cough." he says, handing me a cup. "Hope you like coffee."

"I do," I say, "but I don't think I can sit up. I don't seem to have any strength, and my ribs are hurting again."

"That doesn't sound good." he says, setting his cup down on the side table. "I'll get my supplies and take a look at you, okay?"

"M'kay." I manage, setting my cup on the side table next to his.

He returns a moment later with a bag. He pulls out his stethoscope and places it against my chest. By the look on his face, he didn't hear anything good.

"Sounds like you have pneumonia, or bronchitis. Hell, I'm pretty sure it's both." He says, rubbing his nose, as his eye flicked about the room. "You should go to the hospital."

"Who's going to pay for it, Alfred?" I mutter. "My mother is already crushed by my sister's bills, and I have maybe fifteen dollars to my name."

"I will." he says.

"No, you won't." I reply. "You can't help someone that doesn't want to be helped."

Alfred bit his lip. He knew the rules all too well.

"I just want to help." he says.

"Then, stay here and talk to me."

He looked at me with sadness clouding those eyes that are usually light as the clear summer sky.

"Okay."

"Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you decide to become a doctor? You seem like someone that would rather be racing across the country, discovering all sorts of new things, spreading your wings as far as you can reach. So, why did you settle down into the monotonous work of being a doctor?"

"I wanted to save people." he replies quietly, before turning to me. "I had a friend, a close friend, that was down on his luck. He had lost a lot of people he cared about in a gang war. Aside from me, he had no one left. One night, he called me. He said he couldn't stand it anymore. He gave up. And before I could say anything, just like that...he was gone. And I couldn't save him."

"So you went into medicine because you feel guilty about your friend killing himself?"

"I became a doctor so I could help people when they are like he was. Sick, lonely, desperate, dying. I just want to save who I can."

"Do I remind you of your friend?"

"Yes." he says, peering straight into my eyes. "You have the same defeated look in your eyes, like you've given up on everything and everyone."

"Your friend would be proud of you." I smile.

"I know."

"You make a damn good doctor, Mr. Hero."

He laughs.

"I'm no hero. Just an idiot running around with a blanket tied around his neck."

We talk on and on. The topics change from my family to his, to memories good and bad, to happy times and sad, to moments that are just downright hilarious. I watch Alfred as he laughs. It's a loud, contagious laughter that take all my strength to resist joining him. But I remain as still as I can, not wanting to waste any of the little energy I still have.

Another coughing fit sets in. My disease decides to attack at the same time. My lungs cease up as phlegm clogs my throat. I struggle to breath, wriggling about in effort to get my lungs to move again. Alfred tries my inhaler once more, but to no avail. After an agonizing minute, my lungs start moving again, and the much needed air starts circling in and out of my tired organs dislodging the obstruction.

After that episode, what little energy I had is gone. I lie there in the bed, too tired to move at all. After another check, Alfred tells me that I'm getting worse. Ha, he didn't have to tell me. I can feel it.

The end is coming.

"Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Can you open the window over there?" I ask. The window was to the right of the bed and I could see the night sky through it.

"Sure, but it's cold outside." he says, opening up the window as a cold wind blew through the room.

"It feels nice." I say, eyes drifting of into the distance. "Hey, Alfred?"

"Yes?" he replies, sitting back down in the chair next to the bed.

"Can you hold my hand?"

"Sure." he smiles, taking my hand in his. My hand must be freezing, for his is so warm. "I never got your name."

"_." I say weakly.

"_. What a beautiful name." he says, brushing the hair from my face.

"Can I ask two more things of you, Alfred?"

"Absolutely, _. Anything at all."

"The first is simple. Go to 4591 East Maplesmoore Avenue. My mother lives there. Tell her, tell her that I found Hope."

I can see her standing at the edge of the bed. She's smiling. She looks so healthy. I see her walk to the window, where she waits for me. Suddenly, I see myself lying in the bed, Alfred hovering close by.

"I want you to know something, Alfred." I see myself say.

"What?" I can see tears brimming in his eyes, as he tries to keep his voice steady.

I lay silent for a moment just trying to breathe.

"I want to sing one last time." I breathe.

"Okay." he says, clutching my hand tighter.

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_No one knows where I'm going,_

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_No one knows where I'm going,_

_Walking in circles, Walking in circles,_

_And I know where,_

_Where I'm off to..._

I take my final breath, my eyes fall shut, and my chest goes still. Alfred leans down as sobs shake his body. Hope takes my hand in hers and rises from the floor slipping out the window, waiting for me to follow. But I can't, the song isn't finished. I haven't told him what I wanted to say.

" 'Cuz someone cares where I'm going." I sing out the final verse.

Just then, Alfred's head snaps up as he looks straight at me, eyes wide as dinner plates.

"Alfred, you may not have been able to save me, but you will forever be my hero. Thank you for showing me that you care. I have to go."

My words fade as I do, following Hope out the window to what lies beyond.

"You changed the tune." Alfred breathed.

* * *

><p>Cross-posted from my Deviantart. PM if you would like a link.<p>

Thanks for reading~,

~Aiko-love-Anime


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